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Eli and Kaden and Jace were still allowed to come over and spend time with me, but apart from that, I was practically isolated from the world. It’s the reason why I was able to set up a new identity as Rico Hunter just on the other side of the city. Because almost no one outside knew me well enough to recognize me.
I had no life, no real life whatsoever, from when I was twelve and all the way until that night my parents were killed when I was sixteen. And every one of those days, I swore to myself that when I was eighteen, I would finally be allowed to properly live again. Because by then, my family would be confident that I could take care of myself. That I didn’t need to be surrounded by guards. And then they would let me live. Or I would force them to let me live, because by then, I would be powerful too.
But then my parents were murdered, and I was forced into hiding. And now I’m twenty-two, and Istillhaven’t even started living that life that I promised myself I would have.
Isabella is right. I don’t want to die without even having lived. I feel it now. And I felt it that night she stood next to my bed holding a gun to my head.
What shocks me, and honestly terrifies me, is that she didn’t even know me back then and she still managed to understand exactly how I felt. It terrifies me because it confirms what I have always suspected. Isabella can see right through me. Can see all the emotions I try to hide. See all the dreams I secretly have.
We met for less than a minute in a dark room six years ago, but every day since then, I’ve had the strangest feeling that I know her. That I know her soul.
And now, I understand why.
Because when it all comes down to it, we’re the same. We share the same fear, the same frustrations, and the same dreams.
Another burst of pain spears through my heart when I think about what she told me. About her past. How she grew up.
I thought I grew up being forced to obey the rules set forth by my grandfather, but Isabella had even less free will than I did. Less of alifethan I did. She doesn’t even know who her parents are. She doesn’t even have a real name, for fuck’s sake.
My heart aches for her when I think about what growing up like that must have been like.
It also explains why she acts in such a strange way sometimes. Why she panics when someone asks her what kind of food she prefers. Why she has never eaten waffles or ice cream. Why she doesn’t even know what she likes.
She has lived her whole life in an authoritarian cult of assassins who forced her to become a ghost. A person without an actual identity. It’s so fucking sad and heartbreaking that I can barely stop myself from showing just how angry it makes me.
But I can’t falter now. So I block out any empathy I have for Isabella and instead keep the cold mask on my face as I continue to interrogate her.
“The other two people, the two men who killed my parents, where are they?”
She almost looks a bit hurt that I didn’t comment on, or even acknowledge, her explanation of why she let me live that night. But she’s not in a position to push the matter, so she just swallows down her disappointment and replies, “I don’t know their exact location. But they’re here. In the city.”
“How certain are you of that?”
A brief hint of annoyance flickers in her eyes. “They ambushed me when I was there on Friday, so… very.”
Surprise shoots through me. She was ambushed by them? Narrowing my eyes, I study her. But she doesn’t appear hurt, which means that she walked away from that encounter unharmed.
When I ask her about it, she explains that she noticed them following her and ambushed them instead before yelling that there was a fire and escaping. I almost smile.Smart.
“Tell me everything you know about them,” I demand.
“When I left, they went by the names Derek and Sebastian. Derek is in his forties, and he has dark hair cropped close to his scalp and brown eyes. Sebastian is in his thirties, and he has blond hair down to his shoulders. I was standing behind him holding a gun to his neck, so I don’t know for sure, but since he has the same hairstyle as he did when I left, I assume that he is still wearing gray contacts too.”
“Did you do that as well?” I nod at her face. “Change your appearance.”
“Yes. I was wearing brown contacts when I arrived on campus. They washed out during the test in the pool that day I ran into you.”
A huff of amusement escapes me.
Her lips curve in a faint smile too.
“After that, I had to stop wearing them because it would have made you even more suspicious.”
“It would.” I can’t stop another short breath of amusement. “And your hair?”
“My natural hair color is auburn. More dark red in tone than orange.”
In my mind’s eye, I try to picture what that would look like on her. And fucking hell, it would be a gorgeous contrast against those stormy blue-gray eyes of hers.
